


of monsters and men

by Quecksilver_Eyes



Series: Den lille Havfrue [4]
Category: Den lille Havfrue | The Little Mermaid - Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Character Death, F/M, Murder, in which the little mermaid cannot come out of this tale alive, in which the prince dies in clarity, in which there is a discussion of monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:40:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes
Summary: my darling, will you string me up by the wrists? will you thread all these pearls on my needle-teeth, until they lie in my lungs; petrified, until I reach for you with my hands in claws, with my words all frothing, dripping at your feet – bare and salt-stained?my blood is on your lips, see, and those white hands; foamed. I’m dripping from your dagger, my sweet, with my eyes and my mouth and my calloused hands in your flesh, with my bride and her dark hair in my sheets. how deep will you dig this blade into my heart; pearls strung from these red lips – wordless, breathless, worldless thing.
Relationships: Prins | Prince/Prinsesse | Princess (Den lille Havfrue | The Little Mermaid)
Series: Den lille Havfrue [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1070067
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	of monsters and men

my darling, will you string me up by the wrists? will you thread all these pearls on my needle-teeth, until they lie in my lungs; petrified, until I reach for you with my hands in claws, with my words all frothing, dripping at your feet – bare and salt-stained?

my blood is on your lips, see, and those white hands; foamed. I’m dripping from your dagger, my sweet, with my eyes and my mouth and my calloused hands in your flesh, with my bride and her dark hair in my sheets. how deep will you dig this blade into my heart; pearls strung from these red lips – wordless, breathless, worldless thing.

this is how this story goes, my sweet, with your teeth iron stained, with your hands dripping red: with my bride and her eyes as big as the world; sea-sprayed. I break your heart and your life and the words stuck in your throat – I sink my hands deep into your flesh, until your pearls spill from you, and on these good wooden floors. you cut into my heart with all the love still settled in your concrete bones, with all the sea still clinging to your lips; with all the world’s salt still stuck on your cheeks.

does it make us into monsters, this story? your pearls or my teeth, or perhaps the way our languages don’t intersect?

or maybe the monster is this:  
I do not love you or your wild hair. I do not see you or the way you reach for me; iron-drowned. you pull all this salt out of my lungs and all of this water from within my mouth, and I pull at you and your bare feet until you unravel at the tips of my fingers; petrified. I take a bride and a breath and your heart between my needle-teeth.

I call you sweet.

I call you darling.

I take all your pearls from you until you’ve no salt and no breath left within the pit of you. I take a bride I do not know, and take your life and all this world.

Is that not monstrous, my sweet? Am I not wet with all your blood and all your tears before you ever sharpen this blade on your father’s grief? Did I not leave you hollowed and speechless, and reaching for things that do not belong to you or the red water seeping from you?

Maybe the monster is not the way your lungs don’t quite expand, or how your voice doesn’t live in your throat anymore. Maybe there’s no monstrosity in this blade or in your teeth or in the foam of you.

Perhaps the monster here is just this:  
I am a man with an empty stomach. I do not grow sated with things that are mine to swallow whole, I cannot see what lies in my hands until I’ve crushed it, I drown in a sea and a storm I did not call. I drown in your hands and your hair, and your voice, and I cannot see you; only the afterimage of something wondrous – fair. You give me pearls and I grapple for more. You give your voice and I throw it to the ground; to be eaten by the dogs that lie growling in the corner, yapping at your feet. You give your life and all I see is the bloom of a bride I imagined in my dreams.

I spend my life reaching for things, stepping atop all I own, and all that loves me. I am a man with hollow bones, and hollow teeth; poisoned.

You kill me, my darling, and there’s nothing monstrous about that. But I wonder, my sweet, will you make yourself a monster with that blade in your hands until it is bloodstained – twofold?


End file.
